Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 283 — page 9: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘“‘He’s aman thet gets his money by robbin’ free trappers. When he kin do it without killin’ he does thet; but ef thar’s any danger in leavin’ em alive he robs, then they may as well count themselves dead ’an buried. He don’t make no more account of takin’ a life of a man than I do of skinnin’a beaver. The blood on his hands is enough to sink an honest man; but he ain’ got a grain of horesty in his dirty kar- kidge. It makes me the madder acause he’s got it in him to be a good man, He’s got a han’some face, an’ he’s quick an’ bright. The world’s afore him to make an honest livin’, but he won’t. I wouldn’t like to say how rich he’s got. He’s got an agint in every large town along the river, to git rid o’ the pelts he Steals, an’ it brings him in piles of money.” “Do you mean to tell me that the fellow lives aera by robbery and 1 urder?” ‘Course he does. Itain’t peltries alone he takes; all’s fish thet comes to his net, guns, clothes, ammunition, traps, anything. He hardly ever teches a camp until the’r about to brea up; thet’s his nateral gait, you see. He lays back till all the work is done, ’an then he gobbles up the bull party. Durn his picter, he stole a lot of pelts from me onc’t upona_ time, ’an ef I it a chaince at him I'll fix his flint etarnally. had half a mind to pull on him while he stood thar; ef it hadn’t ’a’ been fur the gal, [I'd ’a’ clone it.” ‘** Who is she?” “*She’s oe 8 strange nee bh hez thet gal; she ‘war found wanderin’ about in the snow on the prary down thar, a gal about eight year old; she’s nigh onto seventeen now, though she’s got the cou of a man. Conrad Vesey found her, an’ he brung her up. He’s a man of fu’st rate eddication, an’ he teached her every thing. She’s apt to l’arn, an’ so it peedn’t surprise ye thet she knows so much. It was his kindness in takin’ car’ of her thet established a sort of claim on her.” “'T see,” said Dan; “and on the strength of this he has obtained a power over her. She is a noble girl” ‘‘ She’s all that. She don’t know the half his sleviltries, though she knows he’s bad enuff. I’ve he’rn her beg of him to quit this life, an’ foller some honorable imployment; but he won’t; robbin’ an’ murder is jest bis strong suit, you understand, an’ he ain’t goin’ to quit it jest yit. He ain't rich enuff to suit him, though I can’t see what he wants withany more. He bankers arter it.” ‘And this beautiful woman -must pass her life in the seciety of such a man as that?” cried Dan. “Itis horrible. Can nothing be done?” ‘She would call it desartin’ a friend to leave him now. He found her perishin’, an’ took keer on her. She never knew how she cum on the prary. I opine she was one of a party of immi- grants, an’ got strayed away somehow, or else the rest of the party got cut up, an’ she ran away. ‘Tain’t nothin’ sure. But whoever she is, a braver gal don’t live on the airth, or a beautifuller. Gosh! ain’t she han’sum?” ‘She is indeed.” ‘* She tries her best to save ya gt thet’s how the story of the White Sperrit got about. She’s usen to come by night an’ try to warn men ag’in’ campin’ hyarabouts. A many of ’em e warnin’ an’ quit. She wouldn’t'’'s’ come to ye ag’in ef ve hedn’t helped her out of the hands of Jeff Rooter. or t yé tech her ag’in, Jeff, or I'll be in yer wool.” ** 1 ain’t goin er,” grumbled Jeff. ‘‘I didn’t ee any better way; an’ I say yit, thet ef we had her, Vesey wouldn’t dare to strike at us.” ‘She shain’t be hurted. 1 like the gal; she’s been mighty kind to the old man. | She told ye some story "bout my savin’ her life. "Twa’n’t me: ‘twas Jan, Don’t you’ deny it; ef ye do. thar ain’t nobody hyar is goin’ to believe ye. ‘“Dowt you go to lie on yourself, Pen Mif- tin,” es i Jan. “You s’pose der young lady ton’t know who saved her? I dells you vat it is: off you dink you can put efery ting off on me, den I lets you know ash I vill‘not standit. You safes der frauloin yourself; now den.” _ “‘ T’Jl leave it out to the comp’ny,” said Ben. ““ She'd got into the track of a herd of_buffler, an’ Jan an’ me see them a-comin’. We rode down to see the fun, an’ while I took the bridle of her horse an’ led him away, Jan shot a mad bull thet was comin’ at us full tilt.” ‘Liar! liar!” shouted Jan. ‘ You runs right 4n der herd of puffaloes, unt dakes der girl ous; off course I shoots der pull. I shoots any pull nash dries to putt me.” ‘‘T have no doubt you did good service. both of you,” said Dan. ‘* The young lady spoke of jt; but how is it that she can live among this party of rough and brutal men? For I take it * Indian Joe. —— eee that this scoundrel must have a large party with him.” “You bet, The roughs an’ villains of the Nor’-west jine him. He’s gota camp in one of the valleys north of this, an’ thar they camp, Don’t think thar ain’t no ~vimmen thar, Most of the men hez got wives of the’r own. Thar’s every nation under the sun in that gang. A story could be writ about ’em. They’ve built up a village, an’ thar they live. They ar’ great chums with the Blackfeet, an’ this Mark- | 9 In order to get another song from him, Dan began a sentimental ballad, to which the Ger- man listened with great pleasure, for Dan had a very sweet tenor voice, and the clear notes awoke pleasant remembrances of songs in which he had joined with old companions de the Rhine. When Dan had finished, Jan sung a German melody: ‘* Where is the German father- land?” It was something so touching, so full of mel. ancholy yearning for the dear old land, so far man holds the title of chief. When Whirling | away, that every man in the company began Breeze—thet's a Blackfoot chief—ain’t strong to like the Dutchman better, as a man who enough to do any job, he calls on Markman to | could cling to his love of country in a foreign n help him,” ** Indeed?” “Yes; an’ ef A ar was to show fight hyar, why, ten to one he calls in Whirling Breeze to help him. It ain’t no tew to one he don’t dew it anyhow, 'cause he will kill ef he can, an’ he'll want to lay it to the Blackfeet, ’cause the gal likes you, don’t you see?” **Do you think we are in danger of an attack?” said Dan. _ “‘T should rather guess you was; no man ever insulted Will Markman yit, thet didn’t git the wust of it. No, sirree! He'll be down on you like bricks. Bet yer life. He holds a grudge forever an’ a day. I don’t think I sh’u’d be above the sod ef the gal hadn’t stood my friend. By the same token, 1’d’a’ put a ball through his hide long ago, ef it hadn’t been for her. So lI guess we ar’ nigh *bout even.” ‘‘ This is the strangest tale Lever heard. Why do not the trappers unite and put these scoun- drels down?” ‘“ Phey tried that one’t. But the brigade had hardly got together when the cusses vamosed the ranch. When we got to the place we couldn’t find bide nor hair of them. We han- kered round the place a week but it wasn't no use; they woulda’t come back. An’ when we commenced to scatter they jest give us tar. We lost a good many of our boys that trip. That’s the’r best bold; cut an’ come ag’in.” **Do you expect an attack soon?” ‘*Kain’t say. We must git ready fer it. I know them. Ive got a place up byar a bit kin fortyfy. We'll do it too, an’ then let ’em come. That's enough talk. Jan, give us a song. An’ ef anybody byar hez got a flask of whisky, let him pass it over, I’m awful dry after so much talkin’.” ‘* Vat I sings?” asked Jan. ; “Any thing. I ain’t particular. Now you keep still, all of you. Thet’s whisky, is it! Here’s yer health.” , Ben took the flask which Dan passed to him, and elevated the bottom at an anei of forty- five degrees. A musical gurgle followed. Jan, who was about to commence his song, paused in the act and looked at Ben. ‘Ts dat visky, Pen?” he said. ‘The besf you ever see,” said Ben, applying the mouth of the flask to his own, ' / “*T ton’t peleave ash dat is visky,” said Jan. “T never peleaves any t’ings unless I taste him.” “Take some,” said Dan. *‘* You are welcome, —_ a you can sing the better if you have a drink. ‘“ Yaw, I sings petter,” said Jan, eagerly. ‘* Speak to Pen. Pas drinks him all.” sis Jeff Rooter seized the flask and drew it from” the reluctant band of the other, and passed it over toJan. He took a bearty drink, drew a long breath and winked at Ben. ‘Tis visky, sure,” he said. “TI dakes some more.” 3 But Jeff, who had been anxiously waiting, snatched the bottle from his band. By the time it had gone the rounds there was a great vacuum in the upper part of the ffask. “* Now the song,” said Ben. Don’t keep us waitin’, yer.” Jan straightened up, and begun to sing in wee with his irrepressible Dutch accent, which set the whole camp in a roar. The song being finished, every one clapped the melodious German on the back and entreat- ed him to give them another. But be was not to be coaxed, “Ising no more now. Blenty song I got; sometimes I sings, udder dimes I not sing. Pen can sing no more ash vot vrog. Put der young mans can sing. He got singing face.” “What do you mean by that?’ asked Dan, _ “Vy, you ean dell by der face off a mans can sing. Auvery Doochman sings. It is yoost so natural ash preathing vor a Doochmans to sing. Put dat ish not all. Dey. know some- “We ar’ ready. goot vor nottings unless he be trained good vile. $$ } i ) times vat dey sings. Put a Yankee nix sing | land. ‘“'That’s somethin’ like it, old mim,” said Ben. “Thank ye. Ive proved ye, old friend, I know whit ye ar’. 2ad or alive, we are al- ways friends.” The two clasped hands across the fire. Their hard, brown faces were a little troubled. They had fought and worked side by side through many a weary year, and knew each other well. ‘Yes, Pen. The Doochman you pick oop in der peer saloon in St. Louis vill shtand by you, coom vat vill.” ‘That's right, hay said Dan. ‘‘ Now, it ou are ready, we will see this place which you hink will do to fortify, Ben.” The trapper rose and led the way up the stresm. Every one else followed. They kept on for half a mile, and reached a place where the stream widened and ran in two channels, leaving an island in the center—a rugged, ir- regular little place covered with rocks and loose slate. hy said Dan, ‘*‘ we can make a fortress of at. P “That's what’ 1 thort,” said Ben, quietly. | “We kin try it, anyhow.” CHAPTER VIII. LOOK SHARP! THery set to work in good earnest. Before three days had passed they had finished their fortification. It extended round three sides of the little place. In the rear rose the buge bar- rier of the mountain range, vast and hi The fortification they had built crossed the narrow ss'in front at a place where, defended by cr four resolute men, an army might have | been kept’ at bay. Down the mountain it was almost impossible for enemies to come, for hu- | man feet bed never trod that place. Dan looked with considerable admiration at the work, when finished, “°Tis nice,” said Ben. ‘‘I’'m a dab at build- in’ forts, Lreckon, Dve helped to baild many a one in my time. §So’s Jan.” “Yaw,” said Jan. “I helps Pen always.” “So ye hev, old boy. But the time hez come to show what's in ye now, ef ever. be left alone much longer. I’m goin’ one oe a scout, You'd better céme with me. rest of ye stand to yer arms, an’ ef ye hear my rifle, then look out for dager.” yi The two scouts shouldered their rifles and pe ha amar They poor } Sone MALY @ one mountain side. e not gone a mile when the thande? ae chin hoofs caused them to look up, and they saw Maid Marian coming toward them at a hard gallop. She drew u the panting steed close beside them and asked, eugerly: 7 Where are they?” ‘I don’t reckon I orter tell ye, my beauty,” said Ben. ‘ Yer in the sarvice of the in’my.’ “Not willingly, Ben. You know that if I re- main with them, it is because I believe that IT can do good. And Conrad is not so ed when I am kind to him, I am under obliga. tions to that man. He took me up, a little houseless, homeless wanderer, and gave me a welcome a home, Since that time he has taught me, loved me, reared me, and sought in oe way to put me under tions to him, He has done it. I cannot repay him by ingratitude > ‘But you know what he is,” said Ben, “Tyne, I know he does wicked things, Crimes at which the heart grows sick are on bis soul. I have saved many, but my time is nearly past. They are gomlp , and woe to pa men in the camp. rn back and warn em, “And is ‘Will o’ the W may the black curse fall on him and all lainous crew. Jan, turn back, *Tain’t no use to go on any farther, ez I see, But ef you see Will o’ the Wisp,’ tell him this much from me. I’ve had a bullet molded for’ him this many a bis vil- Now yoost let der young shentlemans sing méa | long day. [ve gotit now. An’ ez sure ez he : gives me a shot at him, jist so sure I rub him song, unt den 1 sings anudder von.” my We sha’n’t — * coming? Now, , S Gomichboo cor